


Shade: Blood

by sunaddicted



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Crossdressing, Heel Porn, Kinda, M/M, Q in Heels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5676856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q's head snapped upwards so quickly and forcefully that the protesting of his vertebrae was clearly audible and jade-green eyes burned with incredulity "What?! I don't do fieldwork"</p>
<p>"This is going to be so far from fieldwork that I'm wondering whether we'll even be payed" James smirked, folding his hands behind his back so that he wouldn't give in the itching need to comfortingly pat those messy curls - somehow, he knew Q wouldn't appreciate it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shade: Blood

_Shade: Blood_

When a heavy package was dumped on his desk, Q didn't bother looking up and kept tinkering with the gun in his hands, showing his disapproval with a frown dimpling the smooth skin of his forehead "Did you collect all the parts of the equipment you destroyed and brought them to me?"

"How did you know it was me?" James inquired, ignoring his Quartermaster's needling question and propping his hip against the cluttered desk, icy-blue irises skittering over the criminally high towers of paperwork and computer pieces littering the tabletop.

"My branch fell silent" Q pointed out, voice raised enough so that his minions could hear him and begin working again instead of staring at the Double-Oh agent invading their territory "The parcel?" he prompted crisply; he didn't have any time to indulge James Bond's every whim and, to be absolutely frank, that day he didn't even have the patience for it: he'd been awake and working himself to the ground for three days straight, never leaving his branch, catching catnaps on the busted couch in his office and snacking on biscuits and sweets to keep his body from shutting itself down in mutiny - the tiredness weighing down his bones had reached a level so high, that not even tea could make him even vaguely polite.

James sighed audibly "Eve caught a cold - nasty one, with stuffed nose and nausea" he informed Q, who probably hadn't heard of the news since he looked like he had been glued to his seat for quite some time.

"I'll send her cat videos to cheer her up" Absentmindedly, Q pushed his unruly curls out of his face and revealed the dark circles around his eyes to the agent's sharp gaze; not wanting to be lectured about the health risks of overworking oneself - he still was traumatised by the last time James Bloody Bond had had the balls to mother him if front of all MI6 - Q gave up on his work and grabbed the parcel "I fail to see the connection between Eve's cold and you dropping things on my worktable, though" Not waiting for an answer, his long fingers had already started to get rid of the knots in the ribbon that kept the box closed.

"She was going to be my partner tonight" James offered, studying the elegant efficiency and economy of Q's movements, appreciating the fact he didn't waste time and energy in uselessly flourishing gestures "At the charity ball"

"Oh, the masked one?" Q vaguely recalled that someone had drawn the short end of the stick and got stuck with playing security at some social function during which nothing was probably going to happen.

James hummed in agreement "M assigned me Eve as a babysitter" Everybody knew a bored Double-Oh could be dangerous when left on his own to find entertainment: usually, people ended up shot and buildings up in flames "But since she's sick, M sent me to tell you you're going to be my handler" he nonchalantly dropped the bomb even before Q finished opening the package and saw its contents.

Q's head snapped upwards so quickly and forcefully that the protesting of his vertebrae was clearly audible and jade-green eyes burned with incredulity "What?! I don't do fieldwork"

"This is going to be so far from fieldwork that I'm wondering whether we'll even be payed" James smirked, folding his hands behind his back so that he wouldn't give in the itching need to comfortingly pat those messy curls - somehow, he knew Q wouldn't appreciate it.

"I don't even have a costume" Q triumphantly retaliated, stubbornly glaring daggers at the smug agent in front of him.

"That's why I brought you Eve's"

* * *

 

Horrified, Q stared at his reflection in the mirror of one of the changing rooms agents used after sweating through their training.

After running up to M's office to beg for mercy and receiving a sound no as an answer - "Q, you're the only one who'll fit in Eve's costume" M had offered as an explanation - he had had to grab a shower in MI6, since he had been confined to HQ; M, wise man, probably feared that Q would made a run for it if he was given the opportunity and didn't want to risk it.

"Well, you look good?" R tried to compliment him as she smoothed the crimson-red cape on his shoulders.

"I'm dressed as a stupid child who didn't notice there was a fucking wolf wearing a nightgown in her granny's bed!" he bristled, while thanking all the gods he didn't give a shit about that Eve had chosen a pair of extremely tight leather pants and a billowing shirt instead of a dress.

"I doubt Red Riding Hood pranced around the forest with heels so high" R nodded towards the red stilettos her Quartermaster was wearing with a naturalness that put even Eve's smooth striding to shame "You're remarkably balanced on those, by the way"

Q arched an eyebrow "It's not more difficult than ice-skating"

R good-naturedly huffed a laugh and snapped a picture of the disgruntled young man; as soon as Eve had been informed Q was going to be her replacement, she had started promising favours to anyone who would send her photographs and videos "Tell that to all the ladies who'll be glaring at you tonight and fighting you for Bond's arm" she joked and handed him a slim trousse "Put some makeup on, you're so pale you could pass for Poe's Red Death"

The idea of scaring some cultured people who had read Edgar Allan Poe's works appealed to Q immensely, his vengeful streak pleasantly tickling his brain "My face will be covered by the hood and a mask"

"Only half of it" R gently turned him around and pensively observed his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks to make sure no stubble had survived the shaving "At least put some lipstick on"

Q frowned "My mouth is too thin for red lipstick"

"Women would sell their firstborns to have pouty lips like yours" R sighed as she brandished the lipstick and intimated Q to shut up "Just trust me on this, hmm?"

* * *

 

The rhythmic clacking of heels on linoleum made everyone in Q-Branch raise their eyes, almost expecting to see Ms Moneypenny even if they all knew she was sick at home.

Fingers stopped to type. A few jaws dropped. Furiously confused blinking ensued. A lone appreciative whistle filled the silence. And, for once, James Bond agreed with the twitchy minions that scurried away everytime he neared them while smiling: the Quartermaster was the reincarnation of every sinfully perverted fantasy a mind could conceive; his long and toned legs were made even more mouthwatering by the boosting the high-heeled shoes gave him and the leather pants rode dangerously low on his sharp hipbones, barely veiled by the sheer white fabric of the billowing shirt that enticingly bared his collarbones and the satiny hollow of his throat, the heavy red cloak framed his thin figure and created a nice contrast with the pallor of his skin and the inky blackness of his curls while the thick coating of lipstick on his mouth made his irises seem greener than ever, especially since he must have put some contacts on and gotten rid of his glasses.

Behind him followed R, beaming as if she had won the lottery and carrying Q's clothes. Suddenly, James wished he had been the one to strip the Quartermaster of his horrible cardigan and helped him in that outfit - just to strip him out of it again; how was he supposed to endure a boring charity ball with such a beautiful creature on his arm?

"Stop staring, 007" Q hissed murderously, embarrassment blossoming rose on his cheekbones and rage making the heels clack louder "And if I don't hear you lot working, I'll wipe all of your bank accounts!" he shouted, not even turning around to glare at his minions.

"You look good and finally you're a true Overlord with that cape"

"Let's go before I change my mind" Q grabbed his mobile and eased it in the back pocket of his trousers, refusing to use the minuscule handbag Eve had bought to complete her outfit, and snatched a car key from a locked drawer "We're taking the Ferrari"

James was sure he must have died and gone to heaven, despite all the people he had killed in his life "Since when do we have a Ferrari?"

Q merely smirked and handed the agent the keys "Don't fucking trash it"

* * *

 

The party was rather boring and James Bond, the epitome of calm and charm, was reduced to subtly growling at the men throwing themselves at Q's feet; even when they understood they were hitting on a man, they kept shamelessly flirting and offering him drinks - it was a marvel Q still wasn't drunk "Are your feet hurting? You've danced a lot" And not even once with him, the jealous monster churning in his gut reminded him viciously.

Q grinned, green orbs peeking up at him admist the black lace adorned with golden flowers of his mask, resembling an impish and mischievous forest spirit "Not at all" Gratefully he drank the glass of cool water the agent was offering him and smiled. Despite having been in a cranky mood about his taking part in the masquerade and tiredness, he was having fun and, for the first time in a few months, relaxation spread through his blood "What about you? Have you spotted any threats?"

The only threats James had spotted were those to Q's virtue, but he really couldn't say so and not expect the younger man to punch him in the face "None, as predicted"

"Then, dance with me" Q's fingers wound themselves around James', their respective callouses rubbing together "You're ruining my good mood with your brooding" he added, tightening his grip and striding in the dancing crowd before 007 could escape.

James reflexively tugged Q closer and slid his arm under the cape and around his waist, one hand lazily splayed on his hip "I'm not brooding"

They glided closer together and once again James was surprised by the ease and grace with which Q moved on the tiled floor, long limbs coordinated to the slow and seductive rhythm of the music. He was a delightful and intuitive dancing partner, one of those few people that made it look natural and effortless - and James had happened to dance with professional ballerinas during his career as a spy: he knew what he was talking about.

"Stop frowning" Q sighed, following 007's twirl that made the hood fall back on his shoulders, ruffling his already messy curls on its way down.

"I'm not frowning" James stated while willing his facial muscles to relax.

"Then, you've got a serious case of resting bitchface"

Those words startled a laugh out of 007 that made the people in their vicinity turn around, sneaking a curious peek at the unconventional dancing couple before whispering to themselves, judging and commenting as it was expected during those functions.

James adjusted the plain, satiny black mask on his face "Tall, handsome and brooding is not your type then?" he teased, firming his grip on Q.

"Are you asking me if you're my type, James Bond?" Q asked cheerily, dimples forming at the corners of his mouth.

Maybe Q was slightly drunk, because James couldn't imagine his prim and proper Quartermaster hinting at the fact one of his agents could be salivating after him and not starting to preach about professional boundaries "What if I am?" he dared to ask.

"I'd answer that you're handsome but I like you better when you smile"

The honesty dripping from Q's words made James feel warmer and pleasantly surprised: Q didn't sound as if it was the alcohol talking "Well, I like you better too when you're enjoying yourself" James admitted as the twirling brought their chests closer, Q's collarbone brushing against the lapel of his jacket.

They danced in companionable silence 'till the music ended and an applause filled the air. James led Q towards the edge of the dance floor, one of those talented hands tucked in the crook of his arm.

"I need to use the restroom"

James grinned "Do you need to touch up your lipstick?" he amicably teased but started to make his way towards the bathroom.

"Actually, I should probably powder my nose" Q talked back, scrunching up said nose.

They entered the men bathroom and were greeted by a confused glance; Q looked extremely out of place in his vertiginous heels but the boffin didn't seem to care in the least and walked into a cubicle after handing James his red cape, treating the agent to the sight of his perfect and fleshy arse clad in leather.

James leaned against the wall and kept his eyes trained on the door behind which Q had disappeared, vainly attempting at not dwelling on how gorgeous and hot his Quartermaster looked; despite the baggy and unflattering clothes Q usually wore, James had always noticed how insanely good he looked - and had dreamed, from afar, of kissing those lips. Eve had found it hilarious, of course: the great heartbreaker James Bond, the man who had fucked his way through almost every single mission he had been sent on, pined after their nerdy Quartermaster.

Q came out of the stall while still lowering the billowing shirt over his stomach, offering to James' eyes a flash of his soft lower abdomen and the sparse body hair curling around his bellybutton. He got rid of his flowery mask and breathed in deeply before chucking it at Bond and putting his hands under the tap, waiting for he sensor to register their presence "That thing itches like hell"

James stuffed the mask in the pocket of his trousers and took off his own, grateful for the sense of freedom its absence made him feel "Are you ready to ditch this sorry excuse of a party then?"

"Fuck yes" Q winked as he dried his hands on a paper towel, slightly grimacing at its rough texture "M will believe me when I'll tell him you dragged me out of here and I'm your innocent victim"

* * *

 

James Bond had never eaten cold pizza on the floor in front of the TV with a man and two cats curled around him, watching some class B horror movie that made him want to laugh himself hoarse.

Apparently, Q did it everytime he actually made it at home instead of napping in his office.

The white Persian cat purred loudly and rubbed itself against Q's stomach, prompting a sleepy chuckle from its owner while the other one, a charcoal grey stray, lazily flicked its tail on James' fingers; they were respectively named Pampuria and Oliver and seemed to be pretty used to cuddle with Q on the carpet, instead of on the couch that was buried under a miscellany of clothes, books and electric components.

"Let's get you to bed, Q" James sighed fondly, fingers petting those unruly curls.

"Only if you're coming with" Q grinned, gently pushing Pampuria off of his lap prompting a displeased meowl, and cocked his head in cheeky invitation - one James Bond wasn't going to refuse, to hell with morality.

The agent stood in a single fluid movement, smooth cloth alluringly stretching over muscled thighs that made Q's vaguely alcohol-addled and sleepy brain blackout for a few seconds and blink stupidly at the hand snatching his wrist and tugging his body up, uncaring of the tricky balance of his heels "Are you sure, Quartermaster? Because I'm not going to say no" James directly whispered in Q's ear, after nosing some curls out of the way and chastely pressing his lips to the tender and vulnerable patch of skin behind his fleshy lobe.

A full-body shiver shook Q's straight spine, knocking his balance out and obliging him to cling to 007's shirt to stay upright; the muscles under his palms felt hot and powerful and, under his pinkie, one nipple quickly hardened into a small nub "I wouldn't have offered, if I didn't mean it" Q was slightly embarrassed by the breathy quality of his voice, but the rational part of his brain - the one that wasn't already pondering about in which position he wanted to fuck Bond - pointed out that it really wasn't worse than wearing stilettos.

James' lips descended over that plump and red-tinted mouth almost ravenously, ravishing the younger man with a skilful tongue that relentlessly probed and didn't desist until it was granted access to the moist cavern of Q's mouth, mapping out teeth and crevices with seducing licks studied to melt the other's bones and coaxing out a musical of groans and deep throated moans.

Q gripped James' short blond strands to keep him in place, as if afraid of loosing contact with that adoring mouth; he didn't care about the dizziness slowly blurring his neurons, revelling in the slight burning settling deep in his lungs.

"Easy Q" James mumbled, his words half-drowned by Q's hunger.

"Bedroom. On the chair in front of the mirror. I'm gonna ride you" With clipped and needy sentences, Q outlined his plan - his mind had finally settled on what picture it wanted to have as wank material "Move" he ordered, shoving at the unmovable torso on which he was leaning.

Something that was inbetween a breathy groan and an amused chuckle tore its way out James' vocal chords, arousal making his voice deeper and rougher, and along with the screams coming from the TV resonated through Q's disturbingly bare apartment.

Q bit at James' lips before disentangling himself from the other's addicting body "Be quick or I'll do without you" he threatened, disappearing in his bedroom to get rid of his garments; he had to peel the leather trousers off of his legs, carefully lowering the zip to avoid chafing the taut and delicate skin over his cock.

"You weren't wearing any pants?" James' irises were fixed on the long and slender cock being so sinfully exposed, jutting from a patch of trimmed black curls and framed by the "v" of the opened trousers. He had to roughly palm his cock to keep himself from coming ridiculously quick - and avoid Q's stupid comments about old age finally catching up with him.

Q got rid of his shirt and toed off the cherry-red heels just for the time needed to shuck off the trousers, quickly sliding his feet back in them; he glanced at the mirror to take in the filthy picture he made: his curls were in more disarray than ever; saliva and lipstick were smeared around his mouth; his weeping cock veered towards his stomach to expose the heavy sac hanging beneath it; the heels made his calves look shapelier and taut - he was the definition of sex on legs "Undress and make yourself comfortable while I prepare myself" he said, nodding towards the upholstered chair in front of the antique mirror he had inherited from his aunt: saying that she wouldn't have approved of the use her nephew Di of it was a safe bet.

As he undressed, folding his expensive suit in a way it wouldn't wrinkle, James observed as Q bent over and folded himself in two, shamelessly putting his arse on display and reaching behind with a couple of lubed fingers to tease at his hole, its rim puffy and pink "Who would have pegged you for the flexible type" he muttered, observing how effortlessly Q curled his pale body.

The only answer he got was a finger easily breaching the tight rim, effortlessly sliding in to the base to nudge at Q's prostrate - if the keen he let out was anything to go by. The digit was quickly pumped - in and out, in and out: a mesmerising rhythm - a couple of times before a second finger was added and their scissoring displayed even more of Q's hole.

James let himself fall on the chair, legs splayed open and welcoming as he watched a third finger breach Q's opening and slowly stroked himself, spreading the precum copiously leaking from his tip. Waiting for Q to properly stretch himself was agonizing torture: he had never been an impatient lover, but the sight of Q's wrist twisting and of his knobbly knees trembling nearly undid his iron control.

As if Q had perceived his thinning patience, he slowly dragged his fingers out of his hole and straightened his spine, luxuriously stretching his back before sauntering over James, a lazy and satisfied smirk etched all over his lips "Are you ready?"

James cleared his throat as he grabbed Q's jutting hipbones and dragged him down to sit in his lap, nails digging in the soft flesh of his bottom and a grunt scraping his vocal chords as Q's lubed fingers wrapped around his length "More than"

Jade-green irises darkened as James' husky words filled Q's mind like a sensual whisp of smoke winding itself around his synapses and short circuiting them, leaving no space to any kind of communication. Steadily, he lowered himself on James' length, savouring the slow burn of his insides stretching to accommodate him, hands gripping the agent's shoulders for leverage.

James really wanted to watch bliss slacken Q's features and pleasure blur his focus, but the image reflected in the mirror was too enticing to ignore: bracketing the sides of the chair there were Q's feet, balancing the weight of his body on thin and vertiginously high heels; subtle muscles rippled under the veil of that pale skin, dancing as Q fucked himself over his cock; his head was thrown back to bare his throat as he shouted his pleasure to the ceiling. He gripped Q's hips harder, probably bruising the tender skin, and pistoned upwards, searching for Q's prostrate with deadly precision and nibbling at his rosy nipples, gently tugging at the hardened nubs.

They moved together, supported by the sturdy chair; their bodies slapped brutally together, wrenching cries and moans and half-sobbed names from their lungs, and their nerve endings sizzled with sensations as if they had been drenched in gasoline and left alone to burn out.

Q came undone first, beautifully out of control as one of his ankles gave away and he dug harder his nails in James' tanned skin, drawing blood to the surface and desperately blinking, trying to put James on focus before the other grabbed his chin and wrenched him down for a scorching kiss as James chased his pleasure in the lithe body suspended over his own, stabbing at deliciously oversensitive skin. When he came, he licked sweat from Q's neck, keeping his head titled to the side with on hand and his eyes fixed on the mirror: Q's buttocks clenched around him, welcoming the shallow and sloppy thrusts slicked by the milky come escaping his insides and pooling at the base of James' cock "Fuck, you're beautiful Q"

Q snorted, sleepy and tired and vaguely uncomfortable; he kissed one stubbled cheek while melting against the powerful body under him, revelling in their closeness.

James gently eased himself out of Q while gathering him closer, tightening his grip to lift them both from the chair "Not much for pillow talk, I gather" he affectionately mused while lowering Q on the pristine bed.

"Hmm, cuddles" he asked, toeing off the shoes.

"Let me clean you a bit first or tomorrow you'll be crankier than when MI6 is out of tea" James fetched a towel in the small bathroom, running out under warm water, she used it to clean them both, gentle on their sensitive skin.

Q's grabby hands dragged him down on the mattress, over the clean smelling and crisp sheets. The younger man wound his long limbs around James, trapping him in a loving embrace even as he quickly drifted off "love you" he mumbled exhaustedly, pecking the closer patch of skin.

James smiled in the dark "I love you too, Quartermaster"

* * *

 

Thanks for buying that costume and being sick -7

I don't wanna know -EM  
But you have my approval if you pulled your head out of your arse -EM

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I was thinking about when I started to write this.


End file.
